by Nora Roberts
She watched the smoke curl from the tip of his cigar toward the gently rotating fans suspended from the ceiling. “I came to apologize.” Nothing, absolutely nothing tasted less palatable.
He merely arched a brow. “For?”
“My behavior last evening.”
As if considering, he tapped out his cigar in a silver bucket of sand. “You demonstrated varied behavior last evening. Can you be more specific?”
She rose, helplessly, to the bait. “You’re hateful, Slater. Cold, arrogant, and hateful.”
“That’s quite an apology, Kelsey.”
“I did apologize. I came over here choking on it, but I apologized. You don’t even have the decency to accept it.”
“As you pointed out last night, I’m lacking in decency.” Lazily, he crossed his ankles. “I’m to assume from this sudden turnabout that you confronted Naomi and she set you straight.”
Her only defense was to angle her chin. “You could have denied it.”
“Would you have believed me?”
“No.” Infuriated all over again, she whirled away from him. “But you could have denied it. You have to be able to see what it felt like to believe what I believed and to find myself . . .”
“What?”
“Crawling all over you.” She all but spat the words as she spun around. “I won’t deny it. I jumped right into your arms. I didn’t think—couldn’t think. I’m not proud of it, but I won’t pretend it was one-sided. I have needs, too, and urges, and—dammit, I’m not cold!”
He wasn’t sure which surprised him most, the sudden vehemence of her last statement or the tears glittering in her eyes. “I’m the last one you’d have to convince of that. Why in hell would you have to convince yourself?”
Appalled, she fought back the tears. “That’s not the point,” she said. “The point is I made an enormous mistake. I said things to you that you didn’t deserve and that I regret.” She dragged both hands through her hair, then let them fall. “God, Gabe, I thought you’d been in her room the night before. I’d heard . . .”
“Moses?” he finished.
She shut her eyes, sighed. “The fool’s always the last to know. I thought it was you. And the idea that you’d go from her to me—that I’d let you . . .” She trailed off again. “I’m sorry.”
She looked so lovely, the sun gilding her hair, regret darkening her eyes. He nearly sighed himself. “You know, I really wanted to stay pissed off at you. I figured it was going to be easy and, Christ knows, safer.” He pushed out of the chair. “You look tired, Kelsey.”
“I had a lousy night.”
“Me too.” He reached up to touch her cheek, but she stepped back.
“Don’t. Okay? I feel like an idiot saying it. More than an idiot knowing it, but I’m in a vulnerable state right now. And you seem to set me off.”
He bit back a groan. “I appreciate you sharing that with me, darling. It’s sure to help me sleep at night. ‘Don’t touch me, Gabe, I might start crawling all over you again.’ ”
She had to smile. “Something like that. Why don’t we start this whole business from the top?” She offered a hand. “Friends?”
He looked down at her hand, then back into her eyes. “I don’t think so.” Watching her, he edged closer.
“Listen . . .” She could already feel the heat, moving up from her toes. “I don’t want to get involved. It’s lousy timing for me.” Cautious, she took a step back.
“Too bad. I’m real pleased with the timing myself.”
“I’m telling you—” She stepped back again, met empty air. Kelsey caught the grin in his eyes seconds before she hit the water. It was pleasantly cool, but no less of a shock. She surfaced, dragging wet hair out of her eyes. “You bastard.”
“I didn’t push you. Thought about it, but didn’t.” Helpfully, he offered a hand to haul her out.
Her eyes lit. She grasped it, tugged. She might as well have pulled at a redwood.
“Don’t bluff, Kelsey.” He simply released her hand and sent her under again. This time she took it philosophically and dragged herself over the side. Sat.
“Nice pool.”
“I like it.” He sat cross-legged beside her. “Come back sometime, take a real swim.”
“I might just do that.”
“It’s almost better in the winter. You can feel smug watching the snow fall outside.”
“I bet.” Idly, she wrung out her hair, then flicked water in his face. “Gotcha.”
He merely took her hand, pressed the wet palm to his lips, and watched her eyes go smoky. “Gotcha,” he echoed.
She scrambled up while her heart flailed around in her chest. “I’ve got to get back.”
“You’re wet.”
“It’s warm enough out.” She resisted, barely, the urge to retreat again when he unfolded his legs and rose. “A textbook spring day.”
He wondered if she had any idea how desirable she was, flustered with nerves. “I’ll drive you back.”
“No, really. I want to ride. I’d almost forgotten how much I enjoy it. I want to take advantage of it while I’m here, and—” She pressed a hand to her jittery stomach. “Oh, God, I’ve got to stay away from you.”
“Not a chance.” He hooked a finger in the waistband of her jeans and jerked her an inch closer. “I want you, Kelsey. Sooner or later I’m going to have you.”
She forced a breath in and out. “Maybe.”
He grinned. “Place your bets.” And released her. “I’ll get you a jacket down at the stables.”
She got out fast. Ten minutes later she was galloping back toward Three Willows. Gabe waited until she’d disappeared over the first rise before he turned away.
“Fine-looking filly, that.”
The voice was like a twisting knife in his side. A sneak attack, impossible to defend against. But he didn’t startle easily. Gabe’s face was a neutral mask as he looked at his father.
Not much change, he noted. Rich Slater still had style. Maybe it leaned toward snake-oil salesman, but it was style nonetheless. He was a big man, broad through the shoulders, long through the arms. His natty gabardine suit was just a little snug around the chest. His shoes shone like mirrors, and his hair, glossily black, was trimmed under a snappy gray fedora.
He’d always been striking, and had used his looks—the stunning blue eyes, the quick smile—to charm the unwary. Nearly six years had passed since Gabe had seen him, but he knew what signs to look for.
The lines etched deep that no amount of pampering or praying could smooth out. The broken capillaries, the overbright sparkle in the eye. Rich Slater was exactly as he’d been six years earlier and for most of his life. Drunk.
“What the fuck do you want?”
“Now, is that any way to greet your old man?” Rich laughed heartily and, as if Gabe had tossed out the red carpet, wrapped his arms around his son. There was the unmistakable scent of whiskey under the peppermint on his breath.
It was a combination that had always turned Gabe’s stomach.
“I asked what you wanted.”
“Just came by to see how you were doing, son.” He slapped Gabe on the back before he leaned away. He didn’t sway, didn’t totter. Rich Slater could hold his drink, he liked to say.
Until the second bottle. And there was always a second bottle.
“You’ve done it this time, Gabe. Hit the jackpot. No more shooting craps in alleys for you, hey, son?”
Gabe took Rich by the arm and pulled him aside. “How much?”
Though his eyes flashed once, he feigned hurt. “Now, Gabe, can’t a father come visit his own flesh and blood without you thinking I’m after a handout? I’m doing fine, I’ll have you know. Built me up a stake out West. Been playing the horses, just like you.” He laughed again, all the while judging and calculating the worth around him. “But I wouldn’t like settling down your way. You know me, boy, got to keep footloose.”
He took out a cigarette, snapped a gold-plated ligh
ter he’d had monogrammed at the mall. “So, who was the sexy blonde? Always had an eye for the ladies.” He winked. “And they always had an eye for you. Just like your old man.”
Even the thought of it had Gabe’s blood boiling. “How much do you want this time?”
“Now, I told you, not a dime.” Not a dime, Rich thought as he looked toward the near paddock where the yearling was still being worked. A man could make a splash with a couple of horses like that. A real splash. No, he didn’t want a dime. He wanted a great deal more.
“Fine horse, that. I recollect how you used to pay more attention to the horses at the track than the game.”
And whenever he had, Gabe remembered, he’d been treated to the back of his father’s big hand. “I don’t have time to discuss my horses with you. I have work to do.”
“When a man makes a score like you’ve done here, he doesn’t need to work.” Or to sweat, Rich thought bitterly. Or to hustle for petty cash. “But I’m not going to hold you up, no indeed. Thing is, I’m planning on being in the area awhile, looking up some old friends.” He smiled as he blew out smoke. “Since I’m going to be in the neighborhood I wouldn’t say no to spending a few days in that fancy house of yours. Have a nice visit.”
“I don’t want you in my house. I don’t want you on my land.”
Rich’s easy smile dimmed. “Too good for me now, are you? Is that it? Got yourself all dolled up now and don’t want to be reminded where you come from. You’re an alley cat, Gabe.” He jabbed a finger into his son’s chest. “You always will be. Don’t matter if you live in a fine house and fuck fancy women. You’re still a stray. You forget who put a roof over your head, food in your belly.”
“I haven’t forgotten sleeping in doorways or going hungry because you’d gotten drunk and lost every penny my mother had slaved for.” He didn’t want to remember. He hated that the memories dogged him like his own shadow. “I haven’t forgotten sneaking out of some stinking room in the middle of the night because we didn’t have the rent money. There’s a lot I haven’t forgotten. She died in a charity ward, coughing up blood. I haven’t forgotten that.”
“I did my best by your mother.”
“Your best sucked. Now, how much is it going to cost me to make you disappear?”
“I need a place to stay.” His nerves were taking over, bringing a whine to his voice. Unable to help himself, he reached for the flask in his back pocket. “Just for a few days.”
“Not here. Nothing about you is going to touch this place.”
“Christ Almighty.” He took a long drink, then another. “I’ll tell you straight; I’ve got some trouble. A little misunderstanding about a game in Chicago. I was working it with this other guy, and he got sloppy.”
“You got caught cheating and now somebody’s looking to blow off your kneecaps.”
“You’re a cold-blooded son of a bitch.” The flask was from the second bottle. Rich was working through it quickly. “You owe me, and don’t you forget it. I just need to lay low for a few weeks, till it cools off.”
“Not here.”
“You’re just going to kick me out, let them kill me?”
“Oh, yeah.” Gabe studied his father with a humorless smile. “But I’ll give you an even chance. Five thousand ought to help you go to ground and keep you there.”
Rich looked around the farm, the well-tended buildings, the glossy horses. He was never too drunk not to calculate his take. “It isn’t enough.”
“It’ll have to be. Keep away from the house, and my horses. I’ll go write you a check.”
Rich tipped up the flask again while Gabe strode away. It wasn’t enough, he thought as the whiskey turned to bitterness in his blood. The boy had hit the big time and all he wanted was a piece of the action.
And he’d get it, Rich promised himself. He’d given the boy a chance. Now they’d play out the game another way.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
IT WAS FOOLISH TO BE NERVOUS. YET PHILIP CONTINUED TO CHECK HIS watch between sips of white wine. Kelsey wasn’t late. He was early.
It was even more foolish to think she might have changed in some way during the two weeks she’d been gone. That she might look at him differently somehow. Or find him lacking—as he’d found himself lacking when he’d watched the woman he’d once loved taken away to prison.
There was nothing he could have done. And no matter how many times he’d told himself that, the words rang hollow. The guilt had eaten at him for years, soothed only by the care and love he’d given his daughter.
Yet even now, two decades later, he could see Naomi’s face as it had looked the last time he’d seen her.
It was a six-hour drive from Washington to Alderson, West Virginia. Six hours to travel from the tidy, civilized world of university life to the gray and bitter reality of a federal facility. Both were regimented, both cloistered for their own purposes. But one was fueled by hope and energy, the other by despair and anger.
No matter how he’d prepared himself, it had been a shock to see Naomi, vivid, arrogantly alive Naomi, behind the security screen. The months between her arrest and her sentencing had taken their toll. Her body had lost its subtle feminine roundness, so she’d appeared angular and bony in the shapeless prison uniform. Everything had been gray—her clothes, her eyes, her face. It had taken every ounce of will inside him to meet her silent, steady gaze.
“Naomi.” He felt foolish in his suit and tie, his starched collar. “I was surprised you wanted to see me.”
“Needed to. You learn quickly in here that what you want is rarely a consideration.” She was three weeks into her sentence, and for the sake of her sanity had already stopped crossing off days on her mental calendar. “I appreciate your coming, Philip. I realize you must be dealing with a lot of backlash right now. I hope it won’t affect your position at the university.”
“No.” He said it flatly. “I assume your attorneys will appeal.”
“I’m not hopeful.” She folded her hands, linking her fingers tight to keep them from moving. Hope was another weight on her sanity that she’d coldly dispatched. “I asked you to come here, Philip, because of Kelsey.”
He said nothing, couldn’t. One of his deepest fears was that she would ask him to arrange for Kelsey to visit, to bring his child into this place.
She had a right. He knew in his heart she had a right to see her child. And he knew in his heart he would fight her to the last breath to keep Kelsey away from the horror of it.
“How is she?”
“She’s fine. She’s spending a day or two at my mother’s so I could . . . make the trip.”
“I’m sure Milicent’s delighted to have her.” The sarcasm whipped back into her voice. The ache crept back into her heart. Determined to finish what she’d begun, Naomi banished both. “I assume you haven’t explained to her, as yet, where I am.”
“No. It seems . . . No. She believes you’re visiting someone far away for a while.”
“Well.” A ghost of a smile flitted around her mouth. “I am far away, aren’t I?”
“Naomi, she’s only a child.” However unfair, he would use her love for Kelsey. “I haven’t found the right way to tell her. I hope, in time, to—”
“I’m not blaming you,” Naomi interrupted. She leaned closer, the shadows under her eyes mocking him. “I’m not blaming you,” she repeated. “For any of this. What happened to us, Philip? I can’t see where it all started to go wrong. I’ve tried. I think if I could pinpoint one thing, one time, one event, it would be so much easier to accept everything that happened after. But I can’t.” She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting until she was sure she could speak without a tremor in her voice. “I can’t see what went wrong, but I can see so many things that went right. Kelsey. Especially Kelsey. I think of her all the time.”
Pity, the overwhelming weight of it, smothered him. “She asks about you.”
Naomi looked away then, around the drab visiting room. Someone nearby
was weeping. But tears were as much a part of this place as the air. She studied the walls, the guards, the locks. Especially the locks.
“I don’t want her to know I’m here.”
It wasn’t what he’d expected from her. Off balance, he fumbled between gratitude and protest. “Naomi—”
“I’ve thought this through very carefully, Philip. I have plenty of time to think now. I don’t want her to know they took away everything and put me in a cage.” She drew a deep steadying breath. “It won’t take long for the scandal to die down. I’ve been out of your circle for nearly a year as it is. Memories are short. By the time she goes to school, I doubt there’ll be much more than a murmur, if that, about what happened in Virginia.”
“That may be, but it hardly deals with now. I can’t just tell her you’ve disappeared, Naomi, and expect her to accept it. She loves you.”
“Tell her I’m dead.”
“My God, Naomi, I can’t do that!”
“You can.” Suddenly intense, she pressed a hand to the security screen. “For her sake, you can. Listen to me. Do you want her to visualize her mother in a place like this? Locked up for murder?”
“Of course I don’t want it. She can’t be expected to understand, much less cope with it, at her age. But—”
“But,” Naomi agreed. Her eyes were alive again, passionate, burning. “In a few years she’ll understand, and she’ll have to live with it. If I can do anything for her, Philip, I can spare her from that. Think,” she insisted. “Think. She could be eighteen by the time I get out. All her life she’ll have pictured me here. Would she feel obligated to come here herself to see me? I don’t want her here.” The tears came then, breaking through the dam of self-control. “I can’t bear it, even the thought of her coming here, seeing me like this. What would it do to her? How would it damage her? I tell you, I won’t take that chance. Let me protect her from this, Philip. Dear God, let me do this one last thing for her.”
He reached out so that their fingertips met through the iron mesh. “I can’t stand to see you in here.”
“Could any of us bear to see her sit where you are?”